


At Bookshop, Two Boys

by medeas



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, At Swim Two Boys, M/M, Simon's POV, You can guess how that goes, and irish niall, and more! i love books, books mentioned include: howl's moving castle, bookshop au, literature student baz, simon gets a job at the bookshop to impress agatha, the picture of dorian gray - Freeform, welsh simon rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25787779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medeas/pseuds/medeas
Summary: Simon Snow does not read. Nevertheless, he wishes to impress Agatha Wellbelove, the girl who works at the bookshop down the street.Enter new employment, Baz Pitch, and a story he was never expecting.
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, devniall is much more minor tho, they're best friends!
Comments: 43
Kudos: 166





	At Bookshop, Two Boys

**Author's Note:**

> yet another snowbaz fic from me that revolves around literature? maybe so! 
> 
> i know they will never ever see this but thank you to basicbathsheba for writing rebel rebel and subsequently making me a devniall fan. i literally only ship them because of their story.
> 
> (title is a reference to the novel at swim, two boys by jamie o'neill).
> 
> enjoy! x

“Simon,” Penny tells me, “this is a horrible idea.” She’s lying on my small twin bed in her pajamas which, admittedly, makes it harder to take her seriously. I tower over her on a regular day but typically her stubbornness makes up for it. Today she just seems tired.

“I don’t understand,” I say. The two of us have been working on our British Literature papers for the past two hours. It’s the only class that Penny and I share, so we always make it a point to do our assignments together. Our self-allotted fifteen minute break only started five minutes ago. Usually it takes around ten for her to get tired of my ranting. “You’re the one who told me that I should get a job.” 

Penny sits up immediately. “No,” she corrects. “I told you to quit buying four sour cherry scones a day or else you’d have to get a job.” 

“Same thing.” 

“Not really.” She sighs. “Si, why do you want to work at that bookshop? Really?” It’s an empty question and we both know it, just as we both know my reasoning for turning in an application earlier this afternoon. 

Agatha Wellbelove. The girl who works the afternoon shifts during the weekdays and closing on the weekends ( _you’ve memorised this girl’s schedule?_ Penny had asked, aghast, when I’d rattled off this information to her the week prior. I didn’t have much in the way of defending myself, so I remained silent). She has this beautiful blonde hair and a smile that could probably rival the sun. Which I know doesn’t say much in England since we don’t really have one, but it’s the best comparison I’ve got. There’s more than one reason why Penny and I do our English coursework together. 

I shrug. “Books are cool.” 

Penny laughs at this, honest-to-god _cackles._ “I don’t think I’ve seen you read a single book all the way through in the nine years we’ve known each other.” She pauses before adding, “and we’re taking an English class.”

She’s not entirely wrong. I have tried to get into reading, especially after seeing how much Penny loves it. She’d recommended me loads of books, classics like _The Great Gatsby_ or _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , books that everyone seems to love. Not me, though. I could never get past the initial thirty pages, always becoming too knackered to continue. Everytime I try to read, it’s as though my mind decides to completely check out and think about anything else except for the words on the page. I only signed up for the English lectures because it was open to all humanities students and Penny told me she’d be taking it. We have nearly opposite schedules, with her studying Political Science and me in History, so I jumped at the chance to take a class with her. Me being in an English lecture has nothing to do with a love for books. I’d given up on books completely. 

That is, before the sign Agatha herself put in the window of the bookshop that read: ‘Now Hiring!’ 

Finding _Kelly’s Bookshop_ had been a complete accident. The shop is on the same street as the building I have most of my classes in, so I’d pass it every single day without so much as a glance. Penny had pestered me a couple of times to pop in with her but I always declined, too disinterested in the prospect to entertain it. It wasn’t until last month that I finally took the plunge. The rain was coming down particularly hard that afternoon and I had forgotten my umbrella back in my dorm. I didn’t want to ring Penny, as she had messaged me earlier that morning to remind me of the impending rain. A message that I stupidly ignored. 

“You’re such a dunce,” I muttered angrily to myself as I pulled open the bookshop’s front door. I was greeted immediately by the smell of dusty volumes and strawberry perfume. 

“Who’s a dunce?”

I looked up and there Agatha Wellbelove stood, a smirk playing on her face. Her hair was perfectly curled and I remembered wondering how it didn’t get frizzy in the rain like mine always managed to. She looked like a portrait you’d see hanging in an extravagant dining hall. 

The next time Penny wanted to go into the shop, I accompanied her happily. And every other day afterwards. 

“I can read, you know,” I tell Penny now. I’m running my hands through my hair, though, something Penny knows is my nervous habit. 

“You hardly even know that girl,” Penny says, and it’s clear that she is talking about Agatha. “You’ve had, what, three conversations with her?” 

Two actually, but Penny does not need to become privy to this information. “So?” I sit down on my bed and she moves over to make more room. We both know that we aren’t getting any more schoolwork done tonight. “You’ve seen her, Pen. Isn’t she perfect?”

“She seems a tad stuck-up, if I’m honest,” Penny replies. She’s rolling her eyes, but they soften upon studying my face. I must look properly pathetic. “The two of you are practically strangers. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. That’s all, really.” 

“It’s just work,” I insist. Neither of us believe a word, but it still feels better to say this aloud. “Besides, who knows. They probably won’t even offer me the job.” 

* * *

I’m offered the job exactly a week later.

At first I’m nervous. I’ve had plenty of jobs before; it was the only way I could afford to go to Uni in London. My previous jobs, though, have been all sweets-related. Bakeries are where I’d discovered sour cherry scones and I haven’t gone back since. It’s familiar territory- the scent of butter and chocolate, the cool temperatures and satisfied customers. I always seemed to leave with flecks of flour in my hair, something that filled me with a sort of happiness that is difficult to describe. It proved that I belonged somewhere, that I took a part of this belonging with me when I left for the evening. After bouncing between foster homes my entire life, it had been a cherished phenomenon. 

I’m not familiar with bookshops. Hell, I’m not familiar with books. I don’t even think I’ve held one in months, much less cracked one open. I’d never admit it to Penny, but Agatha truly is the only reason why I am eager to work here. The thought of seeing her nearly everyday is the only thing that gets me through the front door. 

“Hullo,” I call out as I hesitantly cross the threshold. It’s early on a Saturday morning, but the lights are on so I know that I’m not alone in the shop. “I’m, um, I’m here.”

“We’re closed,” someone calls out. Their voice reminds me of primary school, the days when we were forced to take music class. My school only had one piano available to students and I desperately wanted to be the one from my grade to play it, but of course Gareth Davies grabbed it before I could. I was furious, stuck blowing angrily into a half-broken recorder, until I finally heard him play. The sound was one that I have never been able to place until today. It sounded like a broken vase carefully putting itself back together. 

I look around but am unable to locate the other person in the shop. “Yeah, I know, I’m-” 

“Come back in thirty minutes,” the voice interrupts, and when I turn I am met with its source. 

The voice belongs to someone who, although he looks around my age, towers over me. He has longer jet black hair and skin a bit darker than mine, with lips that look like they’re going to devour me if I make one wrong move. I gulp, then wonder how much gel he must use in order to keep his hair as slicked back as it is. The boy has a nametag pinned neatly to his blazer that reads ‘ _Baz’_ and I try to ignore the fact that his blazer probably costs more than my entire bloody wardrobe when I speak. 

“It’s my first day working here,” I say. My voice comes out more quietly than I would have liked, so I raise my volume when I tell this Baz boy that “I’m Simon.” 

“Snow?” Baz asks and I nod. “You’re the one they just hired.” He looks at me like he’s waiting for the punchline. It makes me uncomfortable and I get the distinct impression that I’m some kind of specimen under Baz’s careful microscope. With the way he’s studying me, eyes moving up and then down again, you’d think a bloke like me had never entered this shop before. 

Suddenly I don’t know what to do with myself, so I just swing my leg back and forth and say, “I’m supposed to be getting trained today.” The shop’s emptiness is getting to me and although we’ve barely said anything to each other, Baz’s all-encompassing presence is burrowing under my skin. He looks so prim and proper standing in front of me, a direct contrast to my denim trousers and orange jumper. I regret everything about what I chose to wear today and silently vow to take Penny up on it the next time she suggests a shopping trip. 

“Okay, then,” Baz replies. Something about the lilt of his voice tells me that he did not expect someone who looks like me to be working at this bookshop. I can hardly blame him. “Wait here while I make you up a nametag.” 

Except I seem to be physically incapable of standing still, so I follow Baz towards the back of the shop. He sighs, irritated, but I ignore him and question, “should Agatha be here soon?” 

Baz quirks an eyebrow, ceasing his movements for a moment. “What?” My face heats up immediately. 

“You know,” I explain, “to train me.” The thought of spending nearly the entire day with Agatha Wellbelove makes me feel incredibly dizzy, but it’s the good kind of lightheaded. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I survey the shop for potential bins I can vomit in if absolutely necessary. 

“God, I wish Ags was training today,” Baz mutters as he writes my name on a piece of cardstock in perfect cursive. The nickname catches me off guard and I nearly miss what he’s just said. The realisation dawns on me suddenly, a bucket of cool water down my back. 

“It’s Saturday,” I whisper. Baz scoffs as he quickly shoves the name tag towards my chest. I have to call upon my rugby days to ensure that the name tag doesn’t go crashing to the floor from the pure force of Baz’s pass.

“Bravo,” he replies, because of course Baz heard me. “You know the days of the week. Great start, Snow.” He begins walking to the front of the shop and I trail behind, still reeling. 

“Agatha doesn’t work until the evening today.” I’m voicing my thoughts aloud, which causes Baz to shoot me an odd look. 

“I didn’t realise that you two were such close friends,” he drawls. “Perhaps that’s why Ms. Kelly hired you.” 

My mind flashes back to when I had my interview a few days ago. I’d been proper sweating, opting to wear a black shirt so my nervousness would go relatively unnoticed. I’m not sure that it worked but nonetheless the older woman who interviewed me, Lorraine, was incredibly sweet. She confessed that she was quite tired of sorting through applications and that I seemed to be the perfect candidate. I wasn’t even asked about books at all, which surprised me, but I was not about to bring it up and blow the entire thing. “We’re not,” I say, wishing that even Lorraine was here training me today instead of Baz. 

Baz hums, but thankfully does not push the matter. “We’ll start with the tour,” he announces, sounding as though he’d rather be anywhere else than with me right now. I cannot help but share in the sentiment. “These shelves near the front are organised a bit differently than you’d normally find in other bookshops. They’re all classics, but instead of being shelved in alphabetical order they’re sorted thematically. So here,” he gestures to the section closest to us, “you’ve got your Austens, Brontës, that lot. The one nearest the door has Wilde, Stoker, Joyce- it’s the Kelly’s favourite section, naturally. On the other side we have some penny dreadfuls with Todd, Turpin, the like.”

I do not understand a single thing that Baz is saying to me right now. His words register fine, but their meaning escapes me. I’m rooted to the spot, wishing desperately that I at least attempted to read one of the novels for Penny and I’s British Lit course. Maybe then I could at least say something slightly intelligent instead of standing here silently like a complete numpty. 

Baz seems to notice that I’m not entirely following, because he stops talking in favour of staring at me intensely. When neither of us utter a single word he lets out a laugh that, if not for the high temperature in the shop, would chill me. “Brilliant,” he utters, more to himself than me. “Out of every single application, they’ve managed to select the one person who is absolutely bloody clueless.” He laughs again and my face turns a deep shade of red. “Now _that_ is classic.” 

My hands curl into fists and I have to actively resist the urge to punch him. I could take Baz, I know I could; he may be tall and incredibly fit, but he’s scrawny, too. My shoulders are much more broad and if my years of playing rugby have taught me anything, it’s that I can execute a fairly good tackle. Despite this, I take a few deep breaths, calming myself down the way Penny’s mum taught me a few years back when I was angry all of the time and didn’t know how to stop it. My temper has gotten much better over time, but the familiar anger still bubbles within me and refuses to cool. 

Fighting Baz would not do me any good. In fact, it would probably get me fired, and if I get fired I will not be able to make a good impression on Agatha. Then all of this would be for nothing. So I breathe, until the boiling becomes a low sizzle in the back of my stomach. 

I spend the rest of the morning listening to Baz explain how to work the register, slowly demonstrating each time a customer comes to ring up a book. He’s a surprisingly good teacher and I find myself catching on quite quickly, but it’s still dreadful. Every time I mess up or have a question that Baz deems to be stupid, he rolls his eyes and mutters something undoubtedly rude under his breath. I’ve taken so many deep breaths that I’m beginning to wonder if it’s possible to exhaust your oxygen supply. 

The door flies open around noon, and I smell it before I see her. Strawberry perfume. 

“Agatha,” Baz greets, and there she stands, looking picture-perfect. Her blonde hair is tied back today, held together by a light pink ribbon, every bit untouchable as ever. Her smile seems to widen as soon as she lays eyes on Baz and she runs over to him, ignoring me completely. 

“Baz!” She yells, acting as though she hasn’t seen him in years, which is unlikely as they work together. Her strawberry perfume whiffs towards me and soon she is all I can smell, all I can see. I can’t even fault her for ignoring me, I’m so caught up in just staring at her. “I’ve brought you lunch.” 

Agatha reaches into her rucksack and produces a brown bag. “Sushi?” Baz questions, and I’m surprised to find a grin playing on his face. 

“Obviously,” Agatha says, her brown eyes shining. The two of them are grinning at each other, Agatha handing Baz the bag, and I’m starting to feel like an awkward third wheel until Baz speaks up. 

“This is Snow,” he says. His voice sounds much different than it did whilst talking to Agatha, but I can’t place the exact change in pitch. He fiddles with the brown bag as Agatha finally turns to face me. 

“Oh, Simon! Welcome,” she tells me, a bright smile on her face. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you lunch as well, I completely forgot that you were starting today. Next time, all right?” She’s looking at me expectantly and I’m unable to even reassure her that my lack of lunch is completely okay. It’s as though my mouth is frozen shut, a sensation that has never happened to me before in my life. I wonder if this is what it means to fancy someone, to really and truly fancy them. 

“Don’t you have class soon?” Baz directs the question to Agatha, but he’s looking at me like I have two heads. I quickly avert my gaze, opting to study the floor instead of look at Baz’s stupid face a second longer. It’s blemish free and also perfectly symmetrical, which pisses me off more than it really should.

“Yep, just wanted to drop that off,” Agatha replies. I look back at her and offer a grin, one that she returns. I silently recall the location of the nearest bin to my person as my stomach does weird flips. I’m thinking of something, anything, to say to Agatha before she leaves until something happens that makes my brain short-circuit entirely. 

Agatha rests a hand on Baz’s shoulder and leans in, planting a firm kiss on his cheek. “Bye, love,” she says, then, “bye, Simon!” I’m unable to wave at her as she leaves, too focused on Baz to even move. 

It isn’t the kiss that shocks me. Mates kiss each other like that all of the time. I know this, as Penny is constantly pecking my cheek. No, it’s Baz’s reaction. He’s rolling his eyes, but his mouth is twitching, a suppression of a smile. He must be embarrassed by public displays of affection, then. 

A heavy weight settles itself onto my shoulders and I spend the rest of the day sulking. Baz hardly seems to notice, just goes through the motions of describing everything he’s doing in minute detail. I don’t even mind when he mutters insults under his breath anymore, too gutted about losing Agatha before I ever had the chance to get her in the first place.

When Penny rings me to ask how my first day of work went, I just sigh. “She has a boyfriend, Pen. A total prick of a boyfriend.”

“Oh, Simon,” Penny says, and I can feel her pity filter down the line. “I’m sorry. Are you going to quit, then?” 

I had entertained this notion briefly, the thought of quitting permeating my every thought as soon as I stepped out of the shop at the end of my shift. The knowledge of having to see Agatha nearly every day is not as exciting as it once was, now that I know about her and Baz. 

Baz.

He’d probably throw a party if I were to quit, the arsehole. He seems to hate me for no reason other than the fact that I don’t quite fancy reading. The thought of quitting is a nice one, but the idea of giving Baz the satisfaction is the thing that I find myself focusing on. I can’t let him think I’m nothing more than a soft idiot without trying to at least prove him wrong. I just can’t.

“No,” I tell Penny. My tone harbours a type of conviction that surprises even me. “No, I’m not going to quit.”

* * *

Sunday’s day of work is not turning out to be an improvement from Saturday. The revelation about Baz and Agatha still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Admittedly, I am not taking it very well, uttering comments to Baz such as “you’d know loads about that, wouldn’t you,” when a customer asks him to recommend a romantic novel. Baz continues to give me curious looks, but I ignore him in favour of being slightly petty. It feels good to turn the tables on him, to potentially make Baz feel like he’d made me feel just the other day.

My mood does not improve by the afternoon, and I find myself counting down the minutes until I am able to leave, once again wishing that literally anyone else was training me. I’m staring at the clock and willing it to move faster when the front door opens to reveal a tall redheaded boy. It isn’t until he makes his way into the shop that I spot the dark haired boy he has in tow. 

“Welcome,” I greet, attempting to sound cheerful. It doesn’t seem to work, as the two boys ignore me completely in favour of approaching Baz. 

“What do you two want?” Baz sighs, and I almost tell him off for being rude until I see the boys’ reaction. They’re grinning, clearly familiar with Baz’s attitude. Friends, then. 

“Wow, Niall,” the dark haired one says, addressing the redhead. “Is this the sort of employee you’d want representing your shop?” 

Niall laughs and slings an arm around the other boy’s shoulder. “He’s your cousin,” he says, “maybe you should get better genes.” 

Baz scoffs, brushing the insult aside with a clearly practised ease. The dark haired one, on the other hand, puts on an act of mock-offense. “We’re hardly blood-related,” he defends. “Not my fault my aunt decided to marry his father.”

“Indeed, Dev,” Baz says, and I assume he is speaking to the dark haired one. “You’re not exactly my first pick for a cousin, either.” I can’t imagine speaking to family like that but then again, I don’t really know my family, so I suppose I cannot comment on the subject. Nonetheless, Baz’s attitude surprises me. I’d figured that he reserved this sort of rudeness for me specifically, but it appears as though no one is immune, not even his own friends. 

“Ouch,” Dev moans, clutching dramatically at his chest. “That hurts, Pitch.”

“Tell him to kiss it better.” Baz gestures towards Niall. He’s being sarcastic, but Dev pouts until Niall sighs and places a chaste peck to his lips. 

“Are you two an item as well, then?” I question, more because I have nothing else to do than because I actually care about the answer.

“As well?” Baz asks, and I’m about to explain until Dev takes a few steps closer to me. I think he’s trying to look menacing, judging by the hard set to his face. Niall, on the other hand, is so red that his skin nearly matches his hair. 

“Yeah,” Dev retorts. “That a problem?” He genuinely looks geared for a fight and I begin to wonder if I’m going to need to put my rugby knowledge to use after all. 

“Don’t mind him,” Baz says suddenly with the wave of a hand. “He’s just upset that he doesn’t get to be the only token gay cousin.” Dev visibly deflates, chuckling lowly as Niall grasps his hand. The action is so intimate that it distracts me and I don’t really register what Baz has just said to me.

“And don’t mind _him_ ,” Niall says, and he’s pointing at Baz with his free hand. “Baz is just jealous that he doesn’t have a boyfriend of his own yet.” 

Baz blushes, which I honestly didn’t think was possible of him given who he is as a person. He also looks like he wants to murder Niall, though, which seems more like him. “Wait.” All three boys look at me as I ask, “boyfriend?” 

Dev and Niall suddenly become incredibly interested in this conversation, even moving closer to Baz as a result. “Um, yeah?” Baz answers, but his voice is different than usual. It sounds as though he is releasing a breath, it’s so shaky. 

My ears burn, even though there’s no way I could have known that Baz apparently prefers blokes. “I figured that you were seeing Agatha,” I murmur, fiddling with the curls in my hair. The room becomes so silent that I wish I hadn’t said anything at all. 

“You thought that Baz and Agatha were together?” Niall questions. As soon as I nod in affirmation, he and Dev explode into horrifically loud laughter. 

“Baz?” Dev cackles so much that Niall is the only thing holding him up at this point. “He’s the gayest person that I know!” He dissolves into even more laughter, much to my dismay. It appears as though the only one more embarrassed by this mix-up than me is Baz himself. He’s become strangely quiet, not saying a word as Dev and Niall crack up in the background. 

“All right,” Baz says once the laughter finally ends. “You two should probably leave now.” He pauses before adding, “goodbye,” a very clear hint that he wishes for them to depart.

Niall sputters at his audacity. “You can’t kick me out,” he insists, Dev nodding along beside him. “This is my gran’s shop, remember?”

“How could I forget? You basically act like you’re in charge of me.” 

“Well, I am technically the acting manager whilst gran’s in Dublin,” Niall retorts and Baz groans as though he’d rather not be reminded of this fact. 

This new piece of information surprises me. I assume that any friends of Baz would of course attend Uni, as he seems like the posh type who hates anyone without accredited education. If Niall does go to Uni, though, then how would he also have time to manage a shop? I’m about to ask, but Dev says, “come on, love, let’s go to that new café for lunch,” and then he and Niall have set off before I get the chance to speak. 

Baz doesn’t even bother to explain anything that just happened. Instead, he busies himself with reorganising shelves that I’m fairly certain did not need reorganising in the first place. With no customers being in the shop to check out any books, I’m left completely alone with my thoughts, which is something that I am not very fond of. It’s not that my thoughts get overly dark or anything like that, though sometimes I find myself getting worked up and I have to remind myself to breathe. It’s just that my thoughts are really easy to get lost in and if I’m unable to voice them, I can be stuck there for hours without even realising it. 

I’m so lost in thoughts about Baz- who he really is, deep down- that I don’t even register the fact that Agatha Wellbelove is, apparently, single. 

* * *

I’m finally scheduled to work alongside Agatha for my next shift. It starts off nicely; she explains the cleaning procedure to me and how to shut down the shop if I’m ever made to work closing. Her explanations aren’t as detailed as Baz’s, but she has a much better attitude and it’s refreshing to not be judged the entire time. We work fairly well together, and customers seem to be charmed by the two of us whenever they come in. The problem comes once the shop is empty and there is nothing else for Agatha to teach.

I don’t know how to talk to her. She isn’t a great conversationalist either, opting to text on her mobile rather than conduct small talk. I’m aware that I’ve only been an employee for two days, but I’ve never felt so bored here before. There are some moments where my boredom rises to such a high degree that I go to speak, but then shut up as soon as I remember who is alone in the shop with me. Agatha is everything right in the world, and it makes me so nervous that I cannot think of a single thing to say that would impress her. 

Getting out my mobile is an option, but I don’t want to close the door on having a potential conversation completely. Surely if Agatha sees me texting, she’d decide to let me be. Not that I have many people to text, besides Penny, who is probably studying. I’m about to cave and grab my mobile from the back room when suddenly, the front door opens. 

“Baz!” Agatha greets enthusiastically, looking far more excited than I’ve ever seen her. She puts her mobile down immediately and I cannot help but be a little miffed. “Why are you here? You don’t work today.”

“Payback,” Baz says, reaching into his bag. I hate him, hate how easily he is able to talk to Agatha. He doesn’t even have to think about it, he just opens his mouth and she all but swoons. “Here.” 

Baz hands Agatha a brown bag that is reminiscent of the one she’d handed him days prior. “Baz,” Agatha coos, “you didn’t have to get me anything.” Baz shrugs and Agatha grins.

There is nothing between them, I know this, but nevertheless a pain of jealousy shoots right through me. Something else is off, too. The air feels different, less constricting. I’m finally able to open my mouth when all day I’ve hardly said two words. “I didn’t realise you were capable of being so nice.” 

I expect Baz to roll his eyes or even say something mean back. Instead, he bites his lip, and it almost looks like he is suppressing a grin. Almost. “Here,” he says again, only this time he’s talking to me. To my shock, he pulls out another brown bag and holds it out towards me. 

“For me?” I ask, because I honestly cannot believe what is happening. 

Now Baz rolls his eyes. “No, for the ghost standing behind you.” I take the bag, face flushed, while Agatha regards the scene with an odd look in her eye. 

The bag contains about three different kinds of sushi rolls and a heaping pile of veg. It smells incredible and it takes every ounce of willpower that I possess to refrain from scarfing down the entire thing here and now. “Thanks,” I say. I’m not quite sure how to react to Baz doing something thoughtful. 

“Sure,” Baz responds, cool as ever. I’m about to say something further when he announces that he is leaving. 

“So soon?” Agatha questions, a sad look on her face. She’s organising her sushi rolls into even rows and spooning out vegetables onto a paper plate. 

“Class starts in twenty minutes,” Baz explains. 

I suddenly forget about the food in my hand and ask, “what are you studying?” There is something about Baz that is so interesting but I cannot quite put my finger on it. He’s like an abandoned safe that I don’t have the combination to. I want him to open up but I’m afraid of what I will find inside- of how it will make me feel. 

Baz seems surprised that I’ve bothered to ask. “English Literature.” 

“Of course,” I reply, and Baz quirks a brow. 

“What?”

I shrug, mirroring his earlier action. “It just makes sense, that’s all.”

“Right. Well,” he is facing Agatha now, “I’m off.” 

“See you later!” Agatha calls as Baz begins to walk to the door. He’s nearly got it all of the way open until I shout after him. 

“Wait!” 

Baz turns towards me, looking both expectant and incredibly confused. I can feel Agatha’s stare boring into me as well. I don’t understand why I called after him. It felt instinctual, like jumping away from a speeding car or leaving my dorm room unlocked so Penny can sneak in. I just didn’t think about it. 

“Um,” I stammer, and I wish that the floor would swallow me whole. “Goodbye.” 

“Right then,” Baz says slowly, and then the door shuts behind him and he’s gone. Just like that.

Agatha does not comment on my odd behaviour, which I am thankful for. I’m also kind of sad, though, because now that Baz is gone we have nothing to say to each other. 

The rest of the shift passes by in silence, and I find myself wishing that Baz had never left. 

* * *

On Friday, I walk into the bookshop to see Baz and Niall already there. 

“Hello,” I proclaim, removing my rucksack and heading to the back room. Niall echos my greeting while Baz simply offers me a curt nod.

When I return from the back room I instantly spot a customer browsing the children’s section. “Good morning,” I say while I approach her with a smile on my face. It’s too early to be smiling this much, but I know that Niall is watching me and I don’t want to let Lorraine- his gran- down. “Is there anything that I can help you with, ma’am?”

The woman sniffs and I can tell immediately that this is not going to be a pleasant conversation. “Yes, actually. I’m looking for the Narnia prequel book, but I cannot seem to find it alongside the others. Is there a chance that you’ve misshelved it?” 

I know her comment about the shelving is meant to be an insult, but I’m reeling over the fact that a Narnia prequel book exists to pay it any mind. I’d thought that Narnia _was_ the book and had no idea it was a series, much less that it has a prequel. I’m clearly in over my head and so I do the smart thing. I turn to silently wave Baz over. He seems irritated at the prospect of interacting with the woman but thankfully does not argue.

“Hello,” he calls as he approaches us. “What can I help you with?”

Huffing, the woman begins to explain. “As I was just telling this boy, I need the Narnia prequel book.” 

“ _The Magician’s Nephew_?” Baz questions, and his grin looks so cut-and-pasted onto his face that I can tell it is fake. 

“Is that not what I just said?” The woman shoots back and I flinch. Baz, however, remains calm. 

“Of course. Unfortunately, we do not currently have that book in stock. What we can do, however, is order it from-”

This is, apparently, the wrong thing to say. “Excuse me?” The woman screeches as though Baz has just told her that her dye job is horrific (it is, but I’d never say it aloud). “This is supposed to be a bookshop! You’re meant to sell books! Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable. I’m gobsmacked,” she yells, “gobsmacked! I demand to speak to a manager. Now!” 

Baz and I stand completely still for a few seconds, attempting to process just exactly what is happening. “Sure,” Baz says finally. “I’ll get them right away.” 

He’s back a moment later with Niall in tow and I wish that I could frame this: the moment when the woman realises that our manager is yet another young adult boy. She sputters indignantly, clearly at a loss for words, before muttering one final “unacceptable!” as she exits the shop to presumably take her business elsewhere. 

“That screaming was,” Baz comments once the door closes firmly behind the woman, “quite unacceptable of her.” 

And then the three of us dissolve into laughter. It’s the consuming kind, the one where your ribs ache from doing it so much but you’re unable to stop. We’re laughing so hard that I’m afraid I might hack up a lung, and my chest is beginning to hurt, but it’s the hardest I’ve laughed in ages. Tears stream from my eyes and at this point I think we are laughing now just for the sake of it, but I don’t mind. I look at Niall, red-faced from near hysteria, and then to Baz. His face looks different from before. He isn’t wearing his fake smile, the one he puts on when customers come in. No, this one is real. I can tell because he is obviously trying to hide it but failing miserably. Smiles like his simply demand to be felt, not just by him but everyone around. 

Looking at Baz, laughing with him and Niall, something shifts into place. It feels suspiciously like belonging. 

“I want to smoke,” Baz declares once our laughter eventually ceases and we are left standing in an empty shop. I figure that he will take his break and step outside, but instead he removes a lighter from the pocket of his blazer and begins to light a cigarette. 

“Flammable,” I say, holding out my hand to stop him. My action is bold, but for some reason I’m not afraid of Baz’s reaction. 

“Hm?” Baz is unable to speak properly due to having a cigarette hanging from his lips. 

“The books,” I remind him, pointing to the lighter in his hand. Baz nods, agreeing, and removes the fag from his mouth. 

“Come on.” He grabs onto my sleeve and pulls forward. This movement from him sends shockwaves throughout my entire body, and I would be frozen to the spot if not for his grip on my arm. I’m unsure of where we’re going until Baz lets go of my arm and I take in our surroundings. 

We’re standing directly against the bookshop, shoes resting on the cobblestone street that runs behind. I look out of place in my trainers, but Baz fits in perfectly with his oxfords and slicked back hair. This is a common occurrence even in the shop; Baz appears natural surrounded by all of the books, like he belongs amidst the shelves. I, on the other hand, stand out immensely- you don’t even have to ask me for recommendations to realise that I don’t know what I’m doing here.

Baz holds out a fag, a wordless question, and I shake my head. He shrugs and lights his own, the smell quickly permeating all of my senses. We stand without speaking, but it’s different from the silence that comes when I’m alone with Agatha. It’s not silence, then, it’s quiet- a bone-deep comfort that comes with the knowledge that you need not say anything at all, that the other person possesses an understanding of this moment beyond words.

I’m almost disappointed when Baz puts out the cigarette on the brick wall. The smell has become comforting. “Do you hate reading?” 

The question catches me off guard. “What?” Some wind has picked up now, and I hope that he can hear me despite it. 

His black hair ruffles in the breeze, coming undone from its gelled state. It looks better unkempt like this. He looks more like a human being and less like a stock photograph. “You have quite literally no knowledge regarding any form of literature, that much is clear. Either you hate reading or you just can’t be bothered with it.” He pauses before adding, “I can’t seem to figure out which it is.” It’s a mundane statement, but coming from him it sounds like a confession.

Part of me wants to be offended, if not by his question then by the way he’s phrased it. I search within myself, trying to find the strands of irritation that typically build up inside of me but surprisingly come up empty. “No. But I didn’t think that knowing as much about books as you was a requirement to work here.” 

“It’s not,” Baz says. “Agatha hates stories. I was just wondering. That’s all.” This, the fact that he wonders about me, sounds like a confession too.

“I don’t hate stories,” I tell him, because for some reason I need him to understand. “I’ve always loved them, actually. I just. I dunno, I guess I just can’t read.” Baz quirks an eyebrow and I know exactly what he’s thinking. “I’m not illiterate, you prick. I can read things. It’s just hard for me to focus when it comes to books. Like, I want to read them, but sooner or later the words all start blurring together and my eyes wander and I have to start the entire page over. And before I know it, it’s been two hours and I’m still on page, like, ten.”

Baz hums, clearly contemplating the word vomit I’ve just spewed out. I’m quite embarrassed and want nothing more than to go back inside of the shop and forget I’ve ever said anything. Of course, Baz has to make things difficult. “Wait around after your shift. I end earlier than you and Niall, but I’ll come ‘round once you’ve finished.”

“What?”

Baz refrains from trying to further convince me. He doesn’t pout or ask if I trust him, probably because he knows what the answer will be. Instead he just says, “wait for me,” and walks back into the bookshop.

It’s funny, because he didn’t have to convince me. I was always planning to wait for him.

* * *

“Why are we at a library?” I question, taking the front steps two at a time. Baz has incredibly long legs and I’m finding it difficult to keep up. “I told you, I can’t focus when it comes to books.”

Baz doesn’t bother to give me an answer, just shushes me and continues walking up the stairs. His strides are so huge that to me, it practically looks like he’s leaping. “After you,” he says, holding the door open so that I can enter. I roll my eyes and walk inside, but wait for him to quickly catch up so he can once again be in the lead. I still have no clue what we are doing here. 

He leads me to the information desk and dons his cut-and-paste smile. “Excuse me,” he says to the woman working the counter, “my friend here would like to obtain a library card.”

* * *

“I still don’t understand,” I say as Baz and I exit the library. He’d handed the new library card over to me as soon as everything was processed and it feels weird in my hands. Warm, like Baz transferred some of himself to me. 

We pause after only a few seconds of walking, Baz holding his hand up like a stop sign. “Give me your mobile.” 

“Huh?” I study his face in an attempt to find a hint that he is joking, but uncover nothing. A few people loop past us and we move aside so that we aren’t blocking the pavement. 

“Give me your mobile,” Baz repeats, raising his voice so as to be heard amidst the London traffic.

“Is this your way of asking for my phone number?” I grin, satisfied with my attempt at cracking a joke, but when I look at Baz’s face my grin fades. He’s biting his cheek, which is now burning dark pink. I don’t know whether he just doesn’t find me funny or is becoming increasingly annoyed, but I wish that he would smile again. For real. 

I hand my mobile over to Baz who says, “that’s actually not a horrible idea. We should have each other’s numbers.” He looks up at me once he’s added himself into my contacts. “For work-related purposes, of course.” 

“Right,” I answer. My stomach feels tight. I was all but starving just a few minutes ago, but now the thought of eating anything makes me feel ill. Everything about this is unexpected. “Of course.” 

Silence surrounds us once more and I let Baz do whatever he needs on my mobile. The sky grows darker and I worry that it’s going to rain, but after a few minutes Baz hands me back my mobile with a curt “there” and my thoughts of the weather are forgotten. 

“What did you do?”

“I downloaded an app,” he explains. His hair is still a bit displaced from the wind earlier, which pleases me. “You input the number on your library card and it gives you access to loads of audiobooks. All for free. You can borrow them for a set number of days just like you would any physical book and download them onto your mobile.”

I scrunch my nose. “Audiobooks?” Baz’s explanation makes sense, but I’m still dreadfully confused. I wonder if this is his way of telling me to read more; maybe he thinks my vocabulary is dreadful and he’s embarrassed to speak to me.

“You said that you loved stories,” Baz says. His cheeks are still dusted with pink. “But you can’t focus when you physically read. I’d figured that audiobooks would be preferable for you. From what you’ve told me, you probably won’t lose focus as easily.” 

My feet feel like they’re planted firmly in quicksand- I can’t move. The idea of Baz not only paying attention to what I say, but actively thinking about it afterwards makes me feel… I don’t know what it makes me feel. “So listening to an audiobook is reading?” I ask, because I cannot think of anything else to say. My mind is an empty chamber, confused thoughts echoing off of its walls.

Baz nods. “Obviously. Just in a different way.” 

I nod back, gripping my mobile like it’s my lifeline. My mind is still blank, but it’s odd. There are so many things that I know I can say, so many things that I want to say. They just won’t come out. “Cool,” I reply instead. 

The clouds break open above us and rain begins to pour down onto our heads. “Fuck,” Baz curses, and I smile. It’s enjoyable to see him undone like this. “My hair.” 

“You look nice,” I say. 

The wind has picked up, and it’s roaring so forcefully now that he does not seem to hear me. “What?”

“I like it better down like that.” 

“ _What_?” 

Droplets are veiling us like a curtain. I shake my head. “Nothing. Let’s get out of here.” 

So we exit the veil, two boys running as the rain comes down.

* * *

_(21:07) i downloaded my first audiobook_

My phone chimes immediately with Baz’s response. 

**(21:07) Sorry, who is this?**

I snort loudly and am suddenly grateful that Penny cancelled our study plans for this evening. She would mock me endlessly for laughing at this. 

_(21:08) prick_

**(21:08) I really think that you have the wrong number.**

After reading the reply, I begin to legitimately panic. Perhaps Baz’s finger slipped when he was putting his number into my mobile and he typed it out wrong. Perhaps this is all just some huge prank, one to make me look like an idiot. Perhaps Baz is lying in bed right now, laughing at my stupidity. 

My phone chimes again and my shoulders slump in relief when I read the message. Baz really is a git.

**(21:10) Which book did you choose?**

_(21:11) the picture of dorian gray. my best friend penny loves it. she tried to get me to read it a while back, but you know. couldn’t concentrate_

**(21:12) Your friend Penny seems to have good taste. That book is one of my favourites.**

**(21:13) Niall likes it too. I wonder if it’s because he feels some sort of Irish kinship with Wilde.**

_(21:14) it’s probably just a really good book_

**(21:14) True. But how would you know? You’ve never read it.**

_(21:15) like i said, penny loves it. and so do you, apparently_

**(21:17) Are you saying that you trust my taste in literature?**

**(21:18) I’m honoured, Snow. Truly.**

_(21:19) shut up. i’m trying to listen_

* * *

_(01:42) i don’t get it_

**(01:42) Why on earth are you still awake?**

My eyebrows furrow. I’m not entirely sure of the time, if I’m being honest. I’ve been listening to my audiobook for hours, just lying in my bed as the words rush over me. Never have I experienced anything like it before. Stupidly, it makes me want to cry. I’ve been dismissing myself as a non-reader for so long now that actually being able to sit down and enjoy a good book is exhilarating. It’s a relief within its own right, a weight lifted from my shoulders. 

I check the time on my mobile and curse aloud. 

_(01:44) oh shit. sorry. did i wake you up_

_(01:45) sorry_

**(01:45) No Snow, you didn’t wake me up. I’m usually up this late.**

_(01:46) are you one of those vampire-like people?_

**(01:46) Vampire?**

_(01:47) you know, those people who prefer being awake at night_

**(01:48) I’m not sure that I prefer it, but you can call me a vampire if that’s what you wish.**

_(01:48) i just think it sounds cool_

**(01:48) Agreed.**

**(01:49) What don’t you get?**

_(01:49) oh_

_(01:52) the scene where dorian and basil are talking about the painting. the one basil made of dorian. basil is really worried about something he’s said to dorian regarding the painting. dorian says that all basil said was that he admired dorian too much. he says that it wasn’t even a compliment_

**(01:53) And?**

_(01:57) i guess i’m just confused about what basil says after that. i just went back and re-listened to the line, so he says exactly that ‘it was not intended as a compliment. it was a confession’_

_(01:58) what was the confession?_

**(02:00) The painting.**

_(02:01) how can a painting be a confession? like, what was basil confessing?_

**(02:03) Dorian says it best himself, I think.**

**(02:04) ‘Simply that you felt that you admired me too much.’**

_(02:05) i still don’t get it_

**(02:05) Right. Did you know that there is another version of the book? It’s referred to as the 1890 Uncensored Edition. Oscar Wilde had to rewrite and expand the original novel. Partly because people thought it was too overtly gay.**

_(02:07) what? they did that?_

**(02:07) Indeed.**

**(02:08) Anyway, in the original version, the line is slightly different. Instead of admired, it’s liked.**

**(02:08) Dorian says, ‘simply that you felt that you liked me too much.’**

_(02:09) so basil’s painting is like… a weird way of confessing that he has feelings for dorian?_

**(02:10) Essentially.**

**(02:10) Wait, why weird?**

_(02:11) i dunno, i just think using a painting to confess that you fancy someone is just kind of odd_

_(02:11) anticlimactic_

**(02:12) It sounds properly romantic to me.**

_(02:12) well, guess you’re lucky that i don’t fancy you_

_(02:12) lol_

_(02:15) baz?_

_(02:16) did you fall asleep?_

_(02:17) i should probably go to sleep too, i s’pose_

_(02:18) good night_

_(02:22) i really am sorry if it turns out i actually did wake you up_

_(02:23) good night again_

_(02:23) x_

* * *

Baz and I text for the entirety of the next day. And the day after that. And basically every single day afterwards, even on the days where we work together for literal hours. It’s gotten to the point where Penny doesn’t even ask who I’m texting anymore, just tells me off for spending too much time on my mobile.

“So are you two friends now?” She asks me one day as we’re in the library pretending to study. Well, I’m pretending to study. She’s been diligently taking notes for a while now, only stopping to shoot me disappointed glares. It’s really rather unsettling. 

I send off a text to Baz and then shrug. “No. I dunno. Maybe. I guess. Yeah.”

Penny freezes mid-writing. “You’re not making much sense. You know that, right?” 

“No,” I sigh, placing my mobile face down on the table. “I dunno. Maybe. I guess. Yeah.”

“Do you have Agatha’s number as well then?” 

My face betrays my confusion, features scrunched up nearly beyond recognition. “What? What would I need her number for?”

The only sound in the library besides our breathing is the clacking of keyboards. Penny regards me suspiciously and I wish she would just tell me what she’s thinking. “All right,” is all she says before returning to her note taking. 

* * *

_(22:12) WALES_

**(22:12) Is a country, yes.**

_(22:13) i’m reading howl’s moving castle_

_(22:13) why didn’t you tell me that howl is WELSH_

_(22:13) and his name is howell jenkins_

_(22:13) and he played rugby_

_(22:14) i played rugby!!!!!!_

_(22:14) this is absolutely a game-changer_

**(22:15) It didn’t seem imperative that I mention it.**

**(22:15) Of course you were a rugger lad.**

**(22:16) You seem to be very excited about the inclusion of Welsh people.**

_(22:16) well, yeah. probably cos i’m welsh haha_

**(22:20) What.**

My mobile rings immediately after Baz’s message comes through. I check the name on the screen- ‘VAMPIRE’- and quickly click the green button that connects the call. Baz’s voice filters through the line immediately. “ ** _You’re Welsh?_** ” The words come out oddly strangled. 

“Uh, yeah?” Baz ringing me is completely out of the ordinary. We text almost constantly, but neither of us have ever made the effort to converse verbally through the phone. Now that I think about it, it’s kind of odd that we’re just starting this now, especially consider the fact that we talk to each other at work nearly every day. 

“ ** _Your accent is most certainly not Welsh_ ** ,” Baz tells me as though this is something that I am unaware of. “ ** _I’ve been there. I’d know._ **” 

I huff out a laugh. This is nice, laying in bed with my mobile pressed to my ear, Baz’s voice flowing through it. I can almost feel it in a way. Like when you’re listening to music and you can feel your skin vibrate. “I’ve lived in London nearly my entire life. I was born in Wales, though.” 

“ ** _Wales. I can see why your parents decided to move here, then._ **” He’s clearly teasing, but something hard settles itself into the pit of my stomach.

“Hey,” I protest weakly and can tell instantly that Baz isn’t buying it. I’ve never talked to anyone close to me about my family situation, save for Penny. It isn’t that I’m ashamed exactly, though it does often make me sad. It’s just… People tend to get uncomfortable when I mention these things. They suddenly don’t know how to treat me and are unable to hold a normal conversation. I don’t want to lose this with Baz, our normalcy. 

But then he asks, “ ** _What is it, Simon_ **?” and he’s called me Simon and I know that I’m being incredibly daft, keeping anything from him. It’s Baz. Beautiful, witty, sarcastic, intelligent Baz. Nothing, not even my rotten life, can change this. 

“I was born in Wales,” I say again. “I came to London not long after. Not because my family decided to move. I’m actually, heh, not sure who my family is. I was placed into the London foster care system. That’s how I grew up. I’ve only just gotten out a year ago. I live in the dorms during school and stay with Penny come summer.” 

There is silence on the other end of the line when I’m done talking, but it doesn’t last long. “ ** _Simon_ **,” Baz says, and he sounds pained. 

“It’s fine. Really.” I reach for a blanket and cover myself with it, bringing the fabric up to my chin. It’s oddly comforting, like a warm cup of tea. “I have Penny. She’s amazing. And, well, I have- you? Not _you_ exactly. I mean, god. I mean I have you to talk to. Like, our messages always make me smile a concerning amount. Ask Penny, she’s constantly telling me to stop grinning like an idiot. You’d probably mock me if you saw me do it. And you… you gave me books. Who else can I say that about?”

I can hear Baz’s breath hitch, as though it’s caught on something. “ ** _I_ **-” 

“What I mean is,” I continue, because If I stop talking now this will go forever unsaid and I just can’t let that happen, “we’re friends. Yeah?” 

Baz coughs. It’s so loud that I nearly flinch, even though we’re far from being in the same room. “ ** _Sure_ **,” he hacks out, and I assume that’s the best that I’m going to get from him. 

“Okay.” 

“ ** _Okay_ **,” he says.

I go to sleep with the ghost of a smile on my face. I can’t seem to scrub it off. I don’t particularly want to. 

* * *

“My mother died when I was five,” is how Baz greets me at work the following morning. Both Niall, who is standing off to the side, and I share a concerned look.

“Why-”

“I just wanted you to know,” is all Baz has to say for me to know that this conversation is officially closed.

“Alright,” I nod. Niall doesn’t even venture to ask. I’m not quite sure what I would say in way of explanation, anyway. “Why are you here?” I question, looking directly at Niall. “I didn’t think you were working today.” 

“Shelving new shipments,” he replies, kicking a cardboard box that sits at his feet. “It shouldn’t take too long, don’t worry.”

Now Baz and I are the ones sharing a look. “Um.” I run my fingers through my hair. I’m surprised that there’s still hair left to run my fingers through at all. “Why would I be worried about you being here?” 

Niall pales, eyes moving swiftly from me to Baz and then back to me again. It’s comical to see the juxtaposition between his white face and flaming red hair, but I’m way too curious to focus on that right now. “Niall?” Baz prompts, and he goes even whiter. 

“Oh, uh, I think that Dev is ringing me,” Niall declares, holding up his silent mobile. He makes a show of clicking the blank screen and saying, “hello love,” leaving the room to presumably ring Dev for real. 

Baz and I are left standing in the remnants of whatever that just was. “Well,” he says. I can’t help but agree completely.

“Mhm.” 

“Niall never calls Dev ‘love’.” 

I turn to face Baz. “Really?” 

“Yeah. That’s typically Dev’s name for him.” He walks over to the abandoned cardboard box and begins to rip it open. “Might as well get something done whilst Niall is doing god knows what.” 

“I’ll help,” I offer, crouching down next to Baz. Soon we’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor and placing books into tall piles. No one has come in for a while, not even Niall, and it’s been… peaceful. 

Baz picks up a book from the box and studies it intently. “Hm.” It’s quite thick and I’m about to ask him about it when Niall emerges from the back room. 

“Sorry, Dev was just telling me- oh.” He stops upon noticing the book that Baz has in his hand. “You like that one too, then?”

“Never read it,” Baz answers, rotating the book in a way that finally allows me to catch a glimpse of its title. The words _At Swim, Two Boys_ are printed onto the cover amidst an image of two boys leaping into a body of water. 

“Really?” Niall sounds shocked. He makes his way towards the pile of books and starts to pick some up. Upon receiving a questioning glance from Baz, Niall shrugs. “I just figured that you had. It’s gay.” 

Baz snorts. “Is that why you like it, then?” His head is tilted slightly to the left side and a smile plays on his lips. I’m suddenly very glad that I am able to witness this, Baz with his guard down.

“It’s completely Irish. People have compared Jamie O’Neill, the author, to Joyce. See,” there’s a fire in his eyes now. I can place it because this is how Baz and Penny look whilst talking about their favourite books as well. It’s incredible how literature has the ability to light sparks. “The title itself is a reference to the book _At Swim-Two-Birds_ by Brian O’Nolan, though he published it under the name Flann O’Brien. That is a great piece of metafiction in itself, but beside the point. This book,” he points in the direction of Baz’s hand where _At Swim, Two Boys_ is still being held, “is a love story told in the midst of history-in-the-making.”

Niall is slightly out of breath after he’s done speaking, and it leaves me breathless as well. I never really registered how intelligent Niall is. It isn’t at all because he doesn’t go to Uni (though that did surprise me). I don’t seem to belong in Uni, either. My grades have always been shit- not even Penny can help get them up, and I can never find the motivation to study anything relating to my subject. I know that going to Uni doesn’t necessarily make you smart, though. It’s a classist system, at least that’s what Penny tells me. I guess I’d just never really paid much attention to Niall before.

Baz seems to be as interested in Niall’s rant as I am. He shakes himself out of his own trance with enviable ease, however. “So you like it because it’s Irish.” 

“Shut up,” Niall says, but he’s laughing. “At least try to read it before you say anything else.”

Baz crosses his arms. “I never said that I wasn’t going to read it.” 

“Let’s read it together.” I don’t realise I’m speaking until it’s too late. It seems to be Niall and Baz’s turn to share a look. 

“What?” 

“I mean, it sounds cool. Why don’t you buy a physical copy and I get the audiobook, and we read it at the same time? We can have discussions and. Stuff.” 

“And stuff?” I must look unamused, because Baz ceases his teasing immediately. “You want to read a gay historical love story with me?”

For some reason Niall takes this as his cue to head towards the shelves with his stack of books, leaving Baz and I sitting alone on the floor. The carpet suddenly feels harsh under my trousers and I have to resist the urge to viciously scratch at my leg. “Why not?” 

Baz laughs like he’s in on some joke that I’m not privy to. “Sure Snow,” he says, throwing his arms up. “Why the hell not?”

I grin and nudge his foot with my own. The itchiness in my leg morphs into a burning sensation. “That’s what I just said.”

“You certainly did,” Baz gulps, and I get the feeling that I’ll never fully understand him at all. 

* * *

_(19:17) what’s a larkinite_

_(19:17) they keep mentioning it in the book and idk what it means_

**(19:18) People who ascribed to this bloke called Jim Larkin’s beliefs. He was an Irish socialist.**

_(19:20) oh_

_(19:20) so what’s larkinism then?_

**(19:21) A load of unskilled workers in Ireland organised industrially in 1913, around three years before the book is set.**

_(19:22) ah_

_(19:22) and why would you get arrested for tearing down a recruitment poster? recruitment for what?_

**(19:23) The Great War. It was a serious offense to tear down recruitment posters for the British Army. Went against the Defense of the Realm Act of 1914.**

_(19:24) how do you know all this?_

**(19:26) … I asked Niall.**

**(19:27) Aren’t you studying history? How do you not know any of this?**

_(19:27) hey! there are different parts of history_

_(19:28) yesterday i learned about russian steppes_

**(19:29) Fascinating.**

_(19:30) yeah, i dunno...._

**(19:30) What?**

_(19:33) nothing. never mind. i’m going to go back to reading now_

* * *

I don’t have any lectures to attend on Fridays, so I’d offered to take Niall’s shift after I overheard him complaining about having to come in on his and Dev’s anniversary. I honestly don’t mind; I’ve grown to love coming to the bookshop throughout the time I’ve worked here. It’s almost like a second home to me. 

“Hi!” Agatha says when I enter the shop. She does this now- greets me. It always catches me slightly off guard, even though I’ve come to expect it. The act feels breakable, like I could do one small thing and it would be ruined forever, she’d never say hello to me again. 

“‘Morning,” I answer as I settle myself behind the counter. We still don’t really talk loads, probably on account of neither of us having much to say. I’d thought that my nerves would settle down after being exposed to her for so long, but apparently not. Whenever I’m alone with Agatha, I find myself over-analysing every single move that I make. It’s exhausting, but I suppose fancying someone always is. 

Agatha grins at me before turning her attention back to her mobile. I wait for those butterflies you always read about to fly around in my stomach, or perhaps a floating sensation, but nothing comes. It’s like a blank spot where the feeling is supposed to be. 

Oh well. I guess real life isn’t anything quite like fiction after all.

Around noon, like clockwork, Baz strolls in. A pristine looking rucksack hangs off of his frame, like something present in a 1940s period piece. My eyes scan up towards his face and I notice that he’s wearing his hair differently today. Instead of slicked back like it usually is, Baz’s hair is loose. Strands of black frame his face and he reminds me of a statute you’d see in The British Museum. Regal and elegant. 

“Baz!” Agatha yelps, breaking into what I refer to as her Baz-Smile. It’s bigger than any other type of expression I’ve seen on her. Even Baz cannot help but grin slightly when he sees it. “Lunch again?”

Baz nods and opens his rucksack. The smell of roast beef immediately permeates my senses and I practically begin salivating. “There,” he says, handing a sandwich over to Agatha who replies, “you shouldn’t have” but goes to eat it nonetheless. 

“What about me?” I joke, voice light. I know that there’s a sandwich in his bag with my name on it, there always is. Baz just snorts and shakes his head, throwing the sandwich at me with a practised ease. 

“You’re like a dog, Snow.” 

I make a face, but not before opening the sandwich and taking a large bite. “You’re mean,” I tell him through a mouthful of bread. 

Baz shudders. “Gross. Do us all a favour and chew with your mouth closed.” 

“Make me.” 

Both Baz and Agatha stare at me for a solid ten seconds. I’m about to ask why they’re looking at me until Agatha lets out a low whistle. “Wow.” Her mouth is shut, displaying no overt emotion, but her eyes are sparkling. I wonder if I did that. 

Baz grimaces, coming closer to Agatha in order to swat her lightly on the arm. His hand moves to her shoulder and he latches onto it. “Stop.” 

Agatha’s mouth splits open and her eyes continue to sparkle. “Make me.” If I didn’t know that Baz is gay, I’d assume they were flirting. Strangely, jealousy seeps through me anyway. Baz is not a threat on any level so I’m not sure why I’m being like this. All I know is that I want Baz’s hand off Agatha’s shoulder because as it stands now, I feel like I’m about to explode into a thousand burning embers. 

“So,” I say loudly. It has the desired effect; Baz removes his hand from Agatha’s shoulder, letting it fall to his side instead. “Are you staying here for the afternoon, Baz?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Baz shakes his head. “I actually have a lecture about Shelley’s impact on the Science Fiction genre in thirty minutes. I should probably leave now.”

“So soon?” I ask and inwardly curse myself. I sound like Agatha, who instead of fussing over Baz, is watching me with a peculiar look on her face. I don’t quite like it. 

“Um,” Baz coughs. He spares a pleading glance towards Agatha who raises her eyebrows, before looking back at me. “Well, I was actually, um, thinking. I was thinking that…” He trails off. It seems as though he can’t even look at me. His eyes are still glued on Agatha and they’re so large it’s almost funny. Agatha mouths something to Baz that I can’t make out, which causes him to sigh.

“What?” I question. Baz breathes in deeply.

“Would you want to accompany me to the new café a few streets over after your shift?” His words are rushed and smashed together as he says this, but I understand him perfectly. “Dev and Niall said that that they can vouch for it, which isn’t as reassuring as I’d like, but-”

I cut him off. Not because I want him to quit talking. It’s more so he has the time to exhale. “Sure.”

“Really?” Baz finally breathes, and I nod. 

“‘Course.” 

“All right,” he says. His mouth is twitching, which is how I can tell that he is suppressing a smile. I desperately wish that he wouldn’t. “I’ll pick you up.” 

“All right,” I echo back. I think that I’m smiling enough for the both of us at this point. When Baz exits, I swear there’s a small spring in his step. It makes me huff out a laugh, one that has Agatha looking at me suspiciously again. 

The shop feels extremely empty without Baz here. Almost like I’m standing in the ruins of something once whole. It will be nice to hang out with him after work. Agatha utters a sentence under her breath, but I’m not really paying attention, so I don’t ask. 

In the book _At Swim, Two Boys_ , the two main characters make a pact. One boy is going to teach the other how to swim, and then they are going to swim to this island together. Just the two of them. _“We have to go,”_ one of the boys says, _“because in a way, you see, we’ll always be there. No one will take it from us.”_ That’s why they swim.

This is how I feel about _Kelly’s Bookshop_. It’s mine, my safe place in a way that I never thought possible. I couldn’t have ever imagined this, my own island full of people that I care about. 

I think of Dev’s teasing remarks, Niall’s quick humour, Agatha’s strawberry perfume. Baz’s twitch of a smile. The way his cheeks burn pink when he’s embarrassed. His loose hair falling in his face no matter how much he tries to place it behind his ears.

No one can take this away from me, because I will carry the thought of them always.

* * *

After my shift is finished, Baz leads me to a small café not too far from the shop. We settle into a table that’s more isolated from the others and I pick up the menu from its place in front of me. My face falls as I scan through it; the prices are extremely high, even if I were to only get a drink. 

“See anything that you like?” Baz asks me, and I school my expression into one of blatant indifference. 

“Um.” I’m trying to sound casual, but my voice comes out a bit high. “I’m not very hungry.” I remember the drink prices. “Or thirsty.”

Baz raises an eyebrow in his typical fashion. “That sounds very out of character for you.”

I shrug, face burning red. “Yeah, well.”

“Snow.” Baz sighs and places his arm onto the table. He seems to be contemplating something in his mind. As quickly as it came, he takes his arm off of the table and says, “don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”

“No,” I protest. “Really, it’s-” 

“Snow,” he says again, interrupting what was certainly going to be an incomprehensible rant. “I said don’t worry about it. Okay?” 

“Okay,” I repeat, slumping in my chair. This is an act of kindness from Baz, but it still tastes to me like defeat. He’s done so much for me- helped me get a library card, brought me lunch on numerous occasions. He even took my shift once when I was scheduled to work on Penny’s birthday. Now he’s paying for me and it’s upsetting, because I know that I can never pay him back. “Thanks.”

Baz nods in response and gets up to order once I’ve told him what I want. I try to insist on ordering myself, on at least doing _that_ much, but Baz refuses to let me. “I’m not giving you my credit card,” he says, but his eyes are shining and I know that he just wants me to sit down and forget about it. 

When he returns, I ask a question that’s been sitting in my mind for a while now. “Why do you work at the bookshop?” 

“What do you mean?” Baz asks, sitting back down in his chair. The sight of him makes me momentarily lose my train of thought, so I shift my eyes a little. 

“You look- I mean, it seems like you have money. A decent amount, anyway. If that’s the case though, why work at a bookshop?” 

Baz sighs. I get the feeling that he’s been expecting a question like this for a while now. “My father is in possession of a fair amount of money,” he allows. “I don’t exactly resent him, but we don’t share many similar beliefs, either. He’s very… conservative, I suppose, in many of his viewpoints. Especially when it comes to his business dealings. I’d rather not rely on him completely. Besides, I like books, and Niall is one of my best mates. It just makes sense.” 

I accept his answer with a quick nod. It seems like Baz would rather not talk about his father any more than necessary, so I decide to drop the subject matter entirely. 

Baz places an elbow on the table. “So,” he begins, resting his face in his hand, “why history?”

The question surprises me. “What?”

“Clearly it’s not something you’re passionate about,” Baz explains. His eyes are boring into my own and I feel the urge to look away but find that I’m unable to do so. Still, I bristle under the gaze and move my stare to other parts of his face instead. “So why study it?”

“It’s something to do,” I tell him, shoulders moving up and down. “You’re right, I’m not passionate about the subject. It’s not something that I particularly like, but. I don’t know. Penny was going into humanities and I didn’t want to be left behind and. Yeah.” 

Baz doesn’t take his eyes off of me. “Hm.” His head is still in his hand and so I’m looking at him from a different angle than usual, but that doesn’t matter. He still looks great, the perfect prat. “So, what do you like?”

I allow myself to stare into Baz’s eyes, for real this time. I’m reminded of galaxies. “The stars,” I find myself answering. I immediately feel stupid saying this in front of someone as sure of himself as Baz is. He knows exactly who he is, what he likes. Sometimes I think that I don’t actually know anything at all. 

“Astronomy?” 

“I suppose.” I haven’t really looked into the subject very much, especially since I never used to read. Penny went into the humanities and so I followed her. It’s as simple as that. 

Baz regards me as though I’m a complete idiot. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence. “Okay. So why don’t you study astronomy?” 

“What,” I sputter, “change my entire subject? I’d have to start over!” The way Baz suggested studying something different, as though it is an option, confounds me.

He shrugs upon seeing my gobsmacked expression. “So?” His nonchalance is beginning to send waves of irritation through me. I clench my fist to my side.

“It’s not that simple. All of my lectures this year would have been for nothing. A waste.” 

Our drinks are set down in the centre of the table, distracting each of us for a quick moment. Baz grabs his teacup with delicate hands and sips slowly. “Learning isn’t a waste,” he tells me after swallowing. “Besides. There’s certainly a reason why we wake up every morning.” 

“What?” I inquire over the rim of my glass. Baz is taking another sip, so it’s a few seconds before he is able to answer. 

“I personally ascribe to the theory that we wake up every morning because the universe knows that we all deserve do-overs.” Everything that I think I know about Baz rearranges itself in my mind. I’m left openly gaping as he just sits on the opposite side of the table, acting as though he hasn’t just uncovered a mystery of the world to me. “Life would be excessively depressing if that weren’t the case,” he adds, and I have to agree.

* * *

**(22:05) Nightwatch by Terence Dickinson.**

_(22:05) huh?_

**(22:07) It’s an introductory book for beginners in Astronomy.**

**(22:08) I figured that you could use it.**

**(22:09) You know. For Uni next year.**

_(22:11) oh_

_(22:12) wow_

_(22:13) thank you_

_(22:15) seriously, baz. i really appreciate it_

**(22:17) No problem.**

**(22:21) Xx.**

* * *

“Two X’s?” Penny questions, peering over my shoulder to look at my mobile. “And from Baz?” 

We’re both sitting down on my bed, having quit our studying long ago in favour of idly watching television and snacking. “It is different, coming from him,” I say with a mouthful of popcorn. Penny doesn’t complain, too used to my food-related habits by now.

The television blares quietly in the background as Penny reaches for a bag of crisps. She waits until she’s finished chewing on one to ask, “so what’s going on with the two of you?”

I move to take a handful of crisps but am swatted away by Penny’s firm hand. Talking about Baz makes my entire body feel like it’s curled up under a fleece blanket. I want to eat the odd feeling away. “What do you mean? We’re mates. Co-workers, even.”

Penny raises one hand in mock surrender, the other buried firmly in her bag of crisps. “Okay, okay. Never mind, I guess.” I’m not sure what she’s getting at and normally I would pester her until she confessed. However, there is something else on my mind tonight. Something that I feel like I should do, I have to do.

“Speaking of co-workers,” I start, and Penny can automatically tell that I am about to say something serious. She finally abandons her crisps, freeing both hands so that they can sit folded in her lap. “I want to finally do it.”

Penny scoots closer to me. “Do what?” Her head is resting on my shoulder now. It’s her way of showing me comfort when she knows that I’m stressed. I am, but I wasn’t aware that it was so obvious. 

“I want to ask Agatha to go on a date with me.” 

In an instant, Penny’s head is off of my shoulder. “What? You want to ask _Agatha Wellbelove_ on a date?” She says Agatha’s name differently, like it’s something surprising. I once again find myself wishing that I could read her mind. 

“It’s the entire reason I applied for that job in the first place,” I remind her. Something is clearly running circles around Penny’s mind though, because she doesn’t acknowledge that I’ve finally admitted to this very obvious fact. Instead she eyes me warily, like she did when we were fifteen and I told her that I was going to start a sour cherry scone business from scratch. 

“All right,” she says, defeated. “Go for it, then.”

Her answer is a tentative blessing, one that I want to dissect but am too afraid to. I don’t know what I will find if I cut it open. “I will,” I respond, but it comes out more as a whisper. This moment, the one where I’m supposed to gush about the girl I fancy, feels wrong now. Off. “I’m just not sure how to go about it.” 

Penny sighs. “Well. What does Agatha like?” 

“Huh.” I think about it, really dig deep into my brain, and come up with nothing. It’s not surprising; the two of us don’t really open up to each other much. We don’t often speak alone either. I’m too nervous for that and I reckon that she may be, too. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re-” Penny cuts herself off with one more sigh, this one louder than the last. She lifts a finger to her temple and rubs it as though she’s gotten a headache. “You’re not sure. Okay. Who _would_ know what she likes?”

* * *

“Is Agatha going to be coming ‘round?” I ask Baz when it’s just the two of us working at the bookshop. It’s been three days since I’ve talked to Penny about my plans to ask Agatha on a date. I would have discussed this sooner, but I didn’t want to do it over the phone and either Niall or Agatha herself had been hanging around the shop during the previous days.

Baz shakes his head. “She’s not scheduled until tomorrow. Why?” 

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?” He grabs a stool and drags it towards me so that we can speak over an appropriate distance. Once he’s sat down beside me he questions, “what is it?” 

My hands are suddenly incredibly sweaty, remaining wet no matter how much I rub them on my trousers. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, actually _feel it_. “I-” I take a deep breath, stabilising myself as I look into Baz’s eyes. “I’m interested in someone.” 

“Interested?” Baz cocks his head to the side in a show of curiosity. I’m still sweating. 

“Romantically.” 

“Ah.” A noise sounds outside and for a moment it looks as though someone is going to enter the shop. Baz and I wait in silence, only continuing the conversation once we’re sure that no one is about to come in. 

“They’re really…” I’m trying to find the words to describe Agatha but, as always, I come up empty. I wonder if everyone gets like this about the people they fancy or if it’s just me, if I’m just bad at words. “Um.”

“They’re really?” Baz prompts.

This, the sound of his voice, is something akin to a battery for me- my brain feels recharged. I don’t take my eyes off of him as I speak. “They’re dead funny,” I say, and there it is from Baz, that twitch of a smile. “Wicked smart. Beautiful, too. Of course.”

“Of course.”

I let out of a breath of laughter, momentarily forgetting the reason why I began this conversation with Baz in the first place. Talking with him does that to me sometimes. It makes me forget my surroundings or any prior thoughts. “I really. Um. I really want to ask them on a date. I just don’t know how to do it.” I’d figured that doing this, taking the idea from my brain and putting it out into the open, would make me feel better. Instead it’s the opposite. For some reason, I feel as though my shoulders are being weighed down by lead. 

Baz takes my wrung out nerves in stride, like he seems to take everything. “I reckon,” his hand reaches out towards me, a direct imitation of what he had been doing at the café, “that you’re doing a fine job of it.”

His response does not make much sense to me. Then again, nothing does as of late. “I want to… to do this _right_.” Baz’s eyes soften and the sight propels me forward. “I just need to know some things. What they like to do. That sort of stuff.”

Baz’s hand comes to rest on the side of my stool. He appears to be very invested in our conversation, which I appreciate. “That’s… easy,” he tells me, raising his other hand into the air and gesturing at the shelves that surround us.

“Books?” I scrunch up my nose. “I thought that you said Agatha didn’t really like stories.” 

Baz stands up so quickly that his stool topples over. The act startles me and I leap up after him. “ _Agatha_?” He spits out her name like it’s something poisonous. 

“Yeah?” I say, but it comes out more like a question rather than a blatant statement. “I’d thought that you two were close? I’ve been wanting to ask her out for, um, it’s been ages now.” 

This appears to have been the wrong thing to say, but I’m not sure how to make it right. Baz looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him, even worse than my first shift with him. It’s honestly terrifying. “Agatha. You’re quite serious?” 

This new tone he takes on is the scariest thing of all. It’s so eerily calm that it sends a chill directly down my spine. I’ve never heard anything like it. 

“Yes?” My answer once again sounds closer to a question than anything definitive. It’s so fitting that I want to laugh. I’m suddenly feeling as though I don’t actually know anything, much less how to act around people. Around Baz. 

“Right,” he says in that calm voice. “I’m leaving.” 

Baz does not even bother to retrieve his jacket from the back room. He simply turns and speed-walks towards the front door. Before I can ask him what I’ve done, or even what to say to Niall if he comes by, Baz is gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

The swirl of emotions I’ve been experiencing leaves me suddenly. I’m numb as I drop my head into my hands and heave out a large sigh. 

* * *

I’m still looking absolutely miserable when Agatha herself strolls in an hour later. I mean to greet her, I really do, but she’s talking rapidly into her mobile and doesn’t even spare me a second glance. I don’t quite mind, as I can’t think of a single thing to say to her anyway. 

“No,” she’s saying, one hand firmly holding her mobile to her ear. The other is removing her scarf, so I presume that she’s going to stay a while. “This isn’t up for debate. I’ll be seeing you tonight.” A pause. “You chose last time. Besides, we’re not watching _Pride and Prejudice_.” One more pause while Agatha walks closer to me so that she can situate herself behind the counter. “Well, sorry I don’t fancy the idea of you crying into my new cushions. Yes, you would. Okay, I should go now.” 

Her voice suddenly grows softer as she speaks to the person on the other end of the line. “This isn’t your fault so shut it. I truly don’t mind. I love you, okay? Yeah, whatever. Goodbye.”

She hangs up her mobile and sets it onto the counter face down. This is strange, as Agatha is typically glued to it whenever there aren’t any customers in. “Who was that?” I ask lightly. Agatha is picking Baz’s stool up from the floor and I’m really hoping that talking with her will distract myself from what happened. Not that I’m entirely sure of what exactly transpired. I still cannot wrap my head around it; I’ve tried texting and ringing Baz but he’s been steadily ignoring me. Typically this would make me want to scream. The usual anger is not coiled inside of me today though. There is just… nothing there.

“No one,” Agatha snaps back. Her harsh tone is not one I’ve ever heard directed at me before and it catches me massively off guard.

“So. Why are you in?” I try, attempting another conversation. Perhaps I misheard her. Perhaps the universe is not out to get me today. 

Agatha scoffs. It appears that the universe is indeed angry with me and nothing makes sense. “I’m covering the rest of Baz’s shift. I’m sure you can riddle out why.”

“No. I can’t.” 

And then I laugh. I laugh and I laugh and I laugh, whilst Agatha stares at me as though I’ve completely lost my mind. Maybe I have. She looks frightened and all this does is make me laugh harder. Everything is crumbling around me and all I want to do is laugh. I think I’m frightened as well. “Agatha,” I say, because there is nothing inside of me except a hunger for my own destruction. I know this and yet I still ask, “would you like to go on a date with me?” I don’t know what this means.

The fear on Agatha’s face melds into fury once she’s registered what I’ve just asked her. It really isn’t a great sign, I’ll admit. Not that I’m expecting her to jump into my arms, what with the manic laughter and all. “You’re quite serious?” Her words are the same as Baz’s but her tone is not, all sharp edges and burning flame. I take a step back instinctively, afraid that her response will somehow burn me.

Turns out it has. Memories of Baz’s earlier behaviour take root in my mind and my anger finally begins to bubble. It’s comforting for a moment, the way pain is after a period of shock. I’m not broken, then. I can still feel. 

Now I’m standing up swiftly, sending my stool flying into the nearest wall. A crashing sound fills the entire shop but I don’t care, too fired up to even spare the wall a second glance. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” I yell, the anger bubbling over. I’m not taking any deep breaths this time because this is something that I need to let out. “What, am I not- am I just unlovable? Is that it? Is it so hard to believe that I fancy someone because there’s no way anyone would ever like me back, so why bother?” 

Typically, an outburst such as this would lead to an indescribable amount of embarrassment. While my face is red, it’s more from the intense swirl of emotions running amok inside of me, anger being the dominant one. I’m finally coaching myself into taking a few of the deep breaths I should have taken earlier when I finally brave a look at Agatha’s face. It’s not the disgust or resentment that I’d been expecting. Instead, she appears to be contemplating something. 

“You truly think that?” she says, and her voice reverts back to its normal tone. Then, “you truly think that you want to go on a date with me?”

I nod, not having anything else to lose. Her words sound self-deprecating, which is seemingly unlike Agatha. Then again, I’m beginning to realise how little I actually know about her. For instance, I had no idea that she was able to get so angry. I just believed that she didn’t have it in her, which sounds daft when I really think about it. Everyone has the potential for all kinds of emotion- I should know. 

Around a million different emotions flash on Agatha’s face and I feel like I’m watching a stop-motion. Finally, she settles on one. Her face has the outward appearance of someone who is incredibly calm, but I can see the spark in her eyes that ruin the entire facade. “All right, then. Let’s go on a date.” 

My mouth dries up. It seems that I never thought we would get this far, because I have no idea how to respond. “Um.” I should feel as though I am walking on air. Instead, the familiar weight of lead situates itself atop of me. “Thank you.”

“God,” Agatha laughs, but it’s not cruel. “Wow. Okay. Yeah, so, I’m busy tonight, but how does tomorrow sound?” I don’t answer. I can’t. Agatha takes my silence as a confirmation and continues, “we’ll meet outside of your dorm building and go for lunch around noon.”

I’m the one who asked her out and I didn’t even have a date planned. It’s pathetic. All I can do is nod my ascent and think about the fact that I don’t even have her mobile number. 

I pull my mobile out of my pocket and check for any messages from Baz. 

None. The screen remains blank.

Agatha has just agreed to go out with me. I should feel elated. Instead, all I want to do is curl up into a ball and sleep until my mobile chimes with a new text. From Baz.

* * *

We’re situated in a small pub, Agatha sat across from me. My mind is transported back to when Baz and I were at the café- back to when he was still on speaking terms with me. I’d made a conscious decision to push any thoughts of Baz from my mind, which is easier said than done apparently, since I’m still thinking about him. 

“So, what are you studying in Uni?” I ask, and immediately hate myself for not already knowing the answer. I fiddle with my water glass while I wait for her response. This date is incredibly awkward, has been awkward ever since I met Agatha outside of my dorm and we’d walked to this pub side-by-side in complete silence. I hate myself even more for not knowing how to talk to her, this girl with the golden hair and golden smile. 

“Graphic design,” Agatha replies quickly, like she wishes to move on from this mundane topic. She takes a sip from her own water glass and then folds her hands together atop the table. “Why do you like me, Simon?” 

“W-what?” This is the last thing I thought she’d ask me. I feel like I’m at a job interview that I haven’t prepared for, which has admittedly happened a few times. 

“What,” she says, “do you like about me?” Her hands remain folded on the table and she looks even more like someone tasked to interview a potential hire. Not even Lorraine Kelly appeared as professional as Agatha does right now. 

I rack my brain for something, anything, to say. It should not be this difficult. “You’re funny,” I offer. 

Agatha snorts. “Am I really?” 

“You’re smart.”

“Maybe a little bit.” 

“You’re… nice.” This has turned into me listing admirable traits more than me actually describing Agatha, but I’m in too deep now to stop.

“Questionable.” 

“You’re pretty.” 

“That one is true.” 

“Okay,” I sigh, exhaustion seeping in. “Why are you doing this?” It’s clear that she does not want to be here with me, but even I’m not bold enough to point it out. This revelation should devastate me. Instead, I almost feel relieved.

Agatha unfolds her hands. A different look takes over her face now, one that reminds me a bit too much of Penny. It’s borderline diabolical. She speaks slowly, so I’m certain I’m not mishearing her when she says, “kiss me.” It still catches me completely by surprise, however. 

“What?”

Agatha smirks, probably because I’ve just given the worst response all of time. “I want you to kiss me, right now,” she tells me. “Unless you don’t want to, obviously. I would never force you.” 

I do want to. At least I think that I do. There is a beautiful girl in front of me, asking me to kiss her. It would be stupid of me to say no. “Okay,” I say, and then, “yeah. Let’s do it.”

There’s a flame dancing in Agatha’s eyes when she leans across the table. It’s dangerous, and I’m so caught up in staring at it that I forget that I’m meant to lean in as well. The flame reminds me of something- of _someone_. It makes Agatha’s eyes look like Baz, Baz when he gets a particularly brilliant idea. I’m leaning in now, and I’m thinking of Baz’s eyes, of his clear skin and cold hands and lips that are chapped more often than not. Agatha’s lips are not chapped. They feel smooth when they collide with mine, which disappoints me. I keep waiting for it to feel right, for something to click inside of me, but the feeling never comes. 

We pull apart after only a few seconds. To me, it feels like we’ve been kissing for hours. “Um.” 

Agatha leans back in her chair. “Who were you thinking about?”

“Huh?”

"When we were kissing,” she explains. “Who were you thinking about? And don’t say me, because we both know that would be a lie.”

“I-” I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t even know what to think, not anymore. All I do know is that the kiss did not work for me at all. Deep down, though, I think I’ve always known it wouldn’t. 

“Simon,” Agatha breathes. She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. This touch is the simplest act, something easy amidst the difficult emotions buried deep within me. This touch is the thing that breaks me wide open. 

“I think that I’m a little bit in love with Baz,” I whisper. It’s the one true thing that has been present all along. The words feel right when I say them, a puzzle fitting perfectly together. I still whisper, though, because it’s still hard. Laying yourself bare always is. 

I am a little bit in love with Baz. I cannot unlearn this. If given the option, I don’t think that I’d want to. Not anymore. 

Agatha is looking at me, and it’s clear that she’s known this fact the entire time. I’m sure Penny has, too. “I think so too,” she says. She’s also whispering, like one loud word will shatter this entire conversation. This isn’t true, though. My feelings have been let out and there’s no way that I can ever place them back inside. 

I let our ensuing silence consume me as my mind flips through all of my interactions with Baz. I recall it all- the messages, phone calls, our long conversations about everything and nothing- except this time, they’re bathed under a different light. The lines are coloured in. I remember the café, the last conversation we’d have before he stormed out, the one about me dating Agatha. “God,” I moan, and it comes out muffled because I’ve placed my head in my hands. “I’m thick.”

“A bit,” Agatha grants. I still have my head in my hands so I don’t catch her expression when she adds, “nevertheless, Baz is partial to you.”

I lift my head up and regard her curiously. My emotions are that which authors write about; I am half agony, half hope. “After all that’s happened, how could he be?”

A waiter brings us the food that I don’t even remember ordering as I await Agatha’s answer. It seems a lifetime ago that I met her outside of my building, heart heavy with a sensation that I couldn’t place. Once our food is set on the table and the waiter departs, Agatha shrugs. “Feelings are weird. God, don’t tell Baz I said any of this. He’s so prideful, he’d probably hide in his room forever.”

The idea of Baz hiding in his room all day like the vampire he is causes me to let out a small laugh. I break into my first smile in a while and really, it’s only fitting that Baz is at the centre of it all. It’s hard to ground myself now that I’ve finally placed a name to the emotions I’ve been experiencing lately. The notion finally comes- I feel like I’m floating. “You’re great,” I tell Agatha. 

“I know.”

I look at her, and she’s beautiful, but I cannot believe I ever thought that I fancied her. Not when Baz exists. “I sort of wish that I fancied you,” I sigh, thinking of how I feel whenever Baz is around. It’s so much, so big, and it terrifies me. Agatha would be easy- she’d be safe. I would not be splayed out like this, heart exposed. 

Agatha simply laughs at my comment. “That’s funny. Baz said exactly the same thing.” 

“I- what?” Neither of us have touched our food. For once in my life, I’m decidedly not hungry. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Agatha says, as though the very concept is ridiculous. “Baz is extremely gay. Anyway, it was around the time that you’d started working with us. After your first weekend of shifts with Baz, I reckon. I rang him and we started talking about work, you know, how it went. I asked him what he thought of you. What you just told me. That’s what he said.” 

This new information renders me speechless. It was unthinkable, the belief that Baz could be feeling such similar emotions to my own. It was unthinkable, until it wasn’t. 

I push my plate away from me and stand up. “Do you have any paint?” 

“Paint?” Agatha furrows her eyebrows. “I’m in graphic design, not fine art.” 

“Well, do you know where I could find some?” 

Agatha is confused, I can tell. She is confused, but something in her expression shifts when she looks at me. “Yeah,” she says, standing up as well. We’re both smiling like fools. “Let’s get out of here.” 

So we do. 

* * *

Baz does not look at all surprised to see me when I burst into the bookshop the following morning, even though I spent a good portion of yesterday begging Agatha to switch shifts with me. She’d only relented when I told her that if she didn't do this, she could very well be standing in the way of true love. I also said that she could have two of my shifts in the future. Nevertheless, I’m starting to think that all of the romance books I’ve been reading are getting to me. 

I’m still being steadily ignored even as I slam the door behind me. It isn’t until I flip our sign to read ‘ **CLOSED** ’ and lock the door with an audible click that Baz acknowledges my presence. “If anyone complains,” he scoffs, gesturing to the door, “I’m telling Niall that it was all your fault.” 

“That’s fine,” I tell him. My arms ache to gesture wildly but the weight of something in my hands stops me. “I don’t care right now.” 

I really wish that Baz will ask me what I do care about, just so I can be honest with him for once. _You_ , I want to scream. _I care about you._

He doesn’t, however. Not that I blame him. 

“Don’t get in my way,” he says instead. He isn’t demanding that I unlock the door though, which I am deciding to take as a good sign. 

“What if I want to?” The quiet that comes after I say this threatens to choke me, so I hold up the canvas that I’ve been clutching in my hands. 

Baz takes a few steps towards me. He moves cautiously, as though I’m an animal he’s come across in the woods. “What is that?” He’s pointing at my canvas, expression unreadable.

“You,” I say. It’s surprising that I’m still standing upright. My legs are shaking immensely, but I’m trying to keep my hands steady so that Baz can easily see the canvas. The painting I created on top of it. 

After we’d left the pub, Agatha took me to an arts shop where I purchased everything that I needed. We sat on the floor of my dorm room as I painted. For once it wasn’t awkward, just two people who happen to care a great deal about the same person. My art skills leave much to be desired, but I’d tried my best. The completed product is this: an image of Baz in the sky, painted in oranges and pinks and yellows, with some black and brown thrown in. “The sun.” 

Because I’d been wrong when I said that there was no sun in England. Of course I’d been wrong. I would know; the sun is here, standing right in front of me.

“Simon…” Baz trails off. He appears perplexed, unsure what to make of this.

“I like you too much,” I declare, attempting to alleviate the cloud of confusion that seems to surround him. “It is a confession.”

Baz’s eyes widen and the cloud disappears. He understands, then. “If you’re having me on-”

I quickly prop the painting up against a bookshelf so I can free my hands. Gradually, I move my hand towards his, so that he has the time to deny me. He doesn’t, and so I grip his hand with mine. I shiver, and though Baz is cold to the touch, I don’t think that’s exactly why I do it. “I promise I’m not. I would never,” I say, squeezing his hand once for good measure. “I was being an idiot. I like you so much that it scares me. I think I always have. In fact, I think that I love you.”

Baz reacts visibly to this, looking as though it is the last thing he ever expected to hear in his life. He’s squeezing my hand so tightly that I fear it might fall off, but it’s fucking worth it to have him so close. “I’ve read a lot of books because of you,” I continue softly. “You introduced me to so many new stories, and I love it. I want to keep reading, but I don’t want to just do that, either.” 

“I’m not following.” Baz says this so quietly that if we weren’t mere centimetres apart, I probably would not have heard him. His voice sounds fragile, like he’s about to cry. I want to wrap him into my arms until everything passes but I need to finish this, first. 

“I want to keep reading,” I repeat, “about romance and. Stuff. But I want to live these stories, too. I want… I want to live them with _you_.”

“Simon,” Baz says, and that’s four times now he’s said my first name. It’s strange, seeing Baz so lost for words. He reads so much that you’d think he had an infinite supply. Nothing stops him, though. I can see the thoughts playing on a reel in his mind. He’s singling some out, throwing them into a pot. Turning the temperature up. It boils down to this, I know it does: “I love you. I love you, you absolute fucking nightmare”

I surge forward, ready to capture his lips with my own. It seems as though Baz has the same thought, as we immediately find ourselves colliding quite literally head-on. “Ouch,” I comment before we both lose ourselves in our own laughter. 

The books aren’t always wrong. Sometimes love is declarations in the rain, or writing letters, or even dirtying your hands to keep theirs clean.

It’s this too, though: Sitting on the floor at eight in the morning, a bump on your forehead, laughing so hard that you feel like you’re going to vomit onto their expensive trousers. 

And here’s the thing. I love books. But I think that out of all the others, I prefer our story the most. 

* * *

**(20:32) So I’ll pick you up around five o’clock tomorrow evening?**

_(20:32) yes!!_

_(20:33) wait, will this technically be our first date_

**(20:34) It appears so, since someone didn’t seem to catch on the last time around.**

_(20:34) hey! i’m thick, ok, we know this_

**(20:35) Glad you’re self aware.**

_(20:36) does this mean i have to dress up_

**(20:36) Formal wear is optional.**

**(20:37) Trackies, however, are discouraged.**

_(20:38) wow, there goes my entire outfit_

_(20:38) a complete outrage, this is_

**(20:39) Sometimes sacrifices must be made.**

_(20:40) i’m dating you, so it appears that way._

**(20:41) That was pretty good. I’m impressed, Snow.**

_(20:41) simon_

**(20:42) What?**

_(20:43) you’ve called me simon. before_

**(20:43) No, I have not.**

_(20:44) yes. 4 times, actually_

**(20:45) You’ve counted? Christ.**

_(20:45) so you admit it, then?_

**(20:46) Never.**

* * *

**(21:15) Simon.**

_(21:15) HA_

_(21:15) SEE_

_(21:16) YOU DID IT AGAIN_

**(21:16) Never mind. Forget I said anything.**

_(21:17) ok ok i’ll stop_

_(21:17) for now_

_(21:18) what is it_

**(21:19) Tomorrow. Since we’re dating.**

**(20:20) God, this is humiliating.**

**(20:21) Tomorrow can I**

_(20:21) can you what?_

**(20:25) Can I kiss you? For real, this time?**

I squint at my mobile, re-reading Baz’s message about ten times just so I know I’m not imagining it.

‘ **Can I kiss you?** ’

Baz wants to do that. With me. Because we are boyfriends. The thought of it fills me with a joy that’s nearly indescribable. 

I’ve realised something, though. After reading his messages. I had always seen Baz as someone who is completely sure of himself. Who always knows what to say, who is always confident in his abilities and his desires. Looking at his texts now, I can sense his nervousness. He knows what he wants, but he isn’t sure if he will get it. It appears that I was wrong. But instead of the existential dread this conclusion would normally give me, I begin to accept a new type of understanding.

If Baz was right about the universe’s plan for us, then maybe we do become new people every single day. Maybe it’s fine if we don’t know who we are just yet or what we want. Maybe we wake up every morning with a fresh start because we are meant to find ourselves as we live, to discover who we are along the way. 

Maybe people like Baz don’t have it all figured out. 

Maybe that’s okay. 

_(20:30) yes_

_(20:30) xx_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> wow i have so much to say okay  
> > yes, this is part of my agenda to get everyone to read the howl's moving castle book. it is hilarious and magical and so welsh it makes my heart soar  
> > also at swim, two boys. can you tell that celtic studies is one of the subjects i'm studying in uni?  
> > i'm also studying history and it was painful to make simon dislike it. sacrifices, it seems, must be made for art  
> > this was the first time i've written first person pov since... 2013? anyway, it's been a long while, so i hope that i did all right!  
> > at this point i'm wondering if i'm capable of writing a snowbaz fic that doesn't involve literature (the other one i have up did as well). i've been planning a snowbaz fic set in 1940s ireland that was going to centre around irish literature... my sister thinks i should change it up for once haha  
> > please, please let me know what you thought of this fic! any and all comments are appreciated x


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